


The Day That

by General_Button



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Fluff, Gift Fic, M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-11
Updated: 2014-07-11
Packaged: 2018-02-08 10:42:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1937865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/General_Button/pseuds/General_Button
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Sherlock discover love in each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day That

**Author's Note:**

  * For [consulting_smartass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/consulting_smartass/gifts).



> For the 2014 Exchangelock AU Exchange. Hello, giftee! I wasn't sure what to give you, so I panicked and went with something boring. Tropey teenlock with a splash of omegaverse. I know it's not long, but I hope you like it!

The day that Sherlock’s face is smashed into by a rugby ball is the day he discovers John Watson.

“Ow!” Sherlock flails wildly for a few moments as pain explodes along his nose and cheeks. He thinks it might be broken, but after poking it for a bit he discovers it tends to hurt after being hit by a hard ball. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” he snaps at the nearest alpha—likely the one who missed their catch. He flinches guiltily rather than flaring his nostrils and demanding that Sherlock apologize for being “in the way”. Alphas are statistically more aggressive and prone to bouts of anger. Sherlock has dealt with these types long enough.

So he is pleasantly surprised to see genuine remorse on the boy’s face. “Sorry about that, mate. Didn’t see you there.” He jogs past Sherlock’s glare, picks up the ball, and then hesitates. “You’re okay, right?”

Sherlock snorts, making a show of it. “It still hurts, if that’s what you mean. Maybe you should work on your hand-eye coordination before making friends with strangers,” he snaps. He feels a vindictive rush of pleasure when the alpha scowls at him, murmuring a soft insult under his breath before he runs back towards his fellow players.

Now that his nose isn’t smarting quite as much he can get a good look at him. He has the same features with which almost every alpha is gifted; a strong jaw, and a heavy set of shoulders. He has sandy blonde hair, dark from rolling in the dirt. Alphas at this age are just hitting puberty, where their senses and primal urges are going haywire in preparation for rubbish like mating. An outlet like rugby is the perfect sport for the types that don’t know their own strength.

Sherlock rubs his nose, pretending that he’s still checking on his nose whilst staring at the alpha. His teeth are clearly crooked when he smiles. His nose is far too large, but Sherlock imagines he’ll grow into it. Alphas always do.

There’s nothing colorful about this particular alpha—he looks just like the rest of them—but a sharp tingling in Sherlock’s stomach expands when he meets the boy’s eyes. He can’t be more than Sherlock’s age. He scowls at him and starts walking past the field, headed for the library, as was his original intention.

* * *

 

It’s interesting to observe the lower class in their natural habitat. Sherlock can tell that half of the players are on scholarships, their alpha nature making rugby a walk in the park. His alpha (he is only referring to him in the possessive because it makes thinking easier. It doesn’t mean anything) closes in on the alpha carrying the ball and tackles him, their bodies sliding as they briefly tumble. He’s certain that isn’t how it’s meant to go, but they’re laughing and the tension in the air has abated somewhat.

Sherlock notices that his alpha does that a lot (while he is loathe to refer to him as “his”, he doesn’t know his name). He diverts attention when stress is high and helps cool off the alpha’s inevitable tempers. A good team is a team with their heads on their shoulders and not clenched between their teeth, his father once said. Sherlock’s stomach flips when he realizes his alpha doing it on purpose. Oh, perhaps you’re not as stupid as I thought.

He leaves when he realizes John has caught him staring. Instead of scowling, he smiles and waves, probably thinking him the enchanted omega. Sherlock does not do fancying people, thank you very much. He escapes, heading for the safety of the chemistry building.

* * *

 

When Sherlock realizes that he does indeed have a fancy on John, he feels a strong sense of vertigo before the world rights itself. His parents always warned him away from alphas. They said that natural attraction would help, but that in the end all alphas were brutes and could not be trusted. Many older families carried this stereotype. In the olden days alphas couldn’t be trusted to lead anything other than a battalion, and omegas were the crowned jewels of any family.

Now it’s different, with alphas in political positions alongside betas and even omegas, but his parents have constantly told him all his life that getting in with an alpha is a mistake. Unless you want to be bred, Sherlock.

He ignores the voice that tells him to stay away from this alpha finds out his name. It’s John, and he sounds incredibly boring if not for the fact that Sherlock can tell he isn’t like others. Sometimes people mistake him for betas the way he carries himself. Sherlock is fascinated and approaches him the very next day. If he’s going to have something as ridiculous as a fancy, then the only answer is to test the waters and make sure that it’s just about the fantasy of having the perfect boyfriend that he feels this way.

When John is leaving, hair glistening from his shower, Sherlock approaches him and tugs on his arm. “John Watson. My name is Sherlock Holmes.” He thrusts out his hand for a shake, acknowledging the unspoken fact that omegas usually don’t shake hands with alphas or entertain pleasant conversation with those “brutes”.

“Oh, um, hi.” John looks flabbergasted, and gently takes Sherlock’s hand for a shake before releasing it. “I’ve seen you around a few times. You, uh, you have quite a reputation around here.” He chuckles a little awkwardly.

Sherlock raises one eyebrow haughtily, using false bravado to cover the nervousness he’s feeling.  “I need you to kiss me.”

John’s expression freezes. “Why?”

“For an experiment, of course.”

“Oh.” John swallows visibly. “Okay?”

“Wait, what? Okay? You’re not going to ask why?”

“It’s not every day that an omega asks someone to kiss them.” He shrugs, smiling. “I’m sure you don’t have herpes. And you’re always in that lab, so you must know about being clean, right?” He sounds hopeful.

Sherlock’s heart pounds harder, lodged in his throat, and he pulls John towards him. “I just need to make sure of something. Don’t think this means you’re special.”

“Okay?” John grins and shuffles his feet. Sherlock doesn't waste another moment and pulls John towards him, planting his lips over his mouth. Or rather, he tries. He catches the corner of his mouth, but he isn't sure how he almost missed completely. Luckily for him John knows just what to do and pulls back, cradling Sherlock's head before he kisses him for real.

Sherlock knows this is a real kiss because his innards have exploded again. John's scent envelops him more fully than it ever has, and his mouth feels rough and chapped, but gentle. He finds one hand on John's shoulder, the other hanging uselessly, fingers clenching. A part of him remembers he's meant to be taking mental notes, but as his mouth moves against John's, all he can think about is how warm he is and just how far he has let this fancy go. He likes kissing John. It's wonderful and terrible.

John pulls away a millennium later, looking far more put together than Sherlock. It's unfair. "This is horrible," Sherlock says aloud. He realizes his mistake when John flinches back, trying not to look hurt. "Not you," he snaps, hurrying to reassure him. Why does he care so much? "Me. I liked that."

"Oh." John pauses to catch his breath. "Why is that horrible, then?"

"Because it's...people like me don't fancy people." He means to mock John with it, throw the word in his face; you fancying plebeians, but John doesn't seem offended. His eyes widen impossibly and he sputters.

"You- you fancy me?"

Sherlock looks constipated. "I--maybe. I don’t know? It's only because you're an alpha that I feel this ridiculous attraction."

John's colour is very red, and Sherlock would normally presume this was anger. But he is staring at Sherlock with a shy, nervous smile, and he suspects that it might be something even more dangerous. "Why do you look like that? Why are you smiling?"

John's smile disappears, as if he's just realized what he's doing, and he shrugs awkwardly. "I don't know. I mean--I just might, you know, fancy you, too. A bit." He mumbled the words, his face growing more red under every second of Sherlock's scrutiny.

Sherlock looked very harsh, but in truth his mind is spinning. Perfect Alpha John is attracted to him. He may very well want to date him. Most omegas are encouraged to wait "for the right alpha", which usually means the one your posh parents picked out, but he doesn't ever pay any attention to think. Now that he thinks about it, his parents would hate John. He's perfect.

Sherlock kisses him again, sealing the deal. John Watson turns out to be very special.

* * *

 

Sherlock doesn't really date. It's obvious--or becomes obvious--when John gets him some chocolate and Sherlock uses it to see its effect on birds. For the first few weeks John seems a little hurt by Sherlock's curt disregard of him. But he soon learns the that a certain tilt of Sherlock's head means he wants to be kissed, and that when he smiles one of his rare smiles, John has truly done something right.

John finds out that Sherlock is really, truly adorable. It isn't obvious, but he thinks this the first time they make out, and Sherlock is squirming. He's trying to keep himself so still that he shakes, and at first John mistakes this for pleasure. When he realizes what Sherlock is doing, John pulls him onto his lap, their thighs warm against each other.

Sherlock freezes, his entire body stiff. He isn't used to physical contact like this, and his parents' mantra still reigns vividly in his brain despite his own inclinations. He eventually pulls away, mumbling excuses like, you're too hot, rather than the fear he holds.

This pattern continues, and John realizes that while Sherlock is adorable, enigmatic, smart, and just plain brilliant, he's the most difficult boyfriend or girlfriend John had ever had. It almost makes him want to cry sometimes. Sherlock isn't someone he tells his parents about, because they'd want to meet them, and Sherlock probably doesn't want that. Sherlock probably doesn't want a lot of things.

Sometimes, when he's ruined one of Sherlock's "experiments" at the greenhouse  (in a little space where he hides them at school), or he's in a mood where he doesn't want to be touched, John wonders if he's not wanted either, or if he’s just convenient.

* * *

Sherlock, with all his bravado and cool exterior, has an interior that is surprisingly warm. He fights the heat he feels around John Watson and battles it with iciness. Sometimes the ice spreads to John, and he feels guilty. For every hurt he gives John, he keeps coming back. Sherlock can't figure out why, and doesn't bother trying after the first few weeks.

Every kiss and touch of John's fuels what he fights so desperately, that one day he's shouting, "Leave me alone! Just fucking leave me alone!"

At first he thinks John will back off, like he always does, and for some reason this annoys him. But John shouts right back at him: "I always leave you alone! God forbid I want my boyfriend to stick around once in a while!"

"I'm always around! It's not my fault you can't notice a tail." Sherlock's voice croaks. He can't remember the last time he yelled. It feels invigorating. Sherlock approached John and he, beautiful, alpha John, pulls back. He refuses to get violent with Sherlock. Suddenly he had the urge to make John do it. Do something other than handle him with care. He pounces. John flinches, clearly expecting a hit, but is shocked when he finds Sherlock kissing him desperately.

He unravels. They unravel.

John finds out that Sherlock likes to be pushed and pulled as much as he does the pushing and pulling. The more rough he is with him, the more Sherlock comes apart. John doesn't really understand it, and he always keeps himself in check, but Sherlock finally seems to let go in those moments. He craves the alpha brute that hides behind soft smiles and a woolen jumper made by his mum.

* * *

 

Love comes very slowly for John. There isn't a day where he realizes he loves Sherlock, after months of putting up with him and being put up with. There's one morning—when he's come over to the Holmes' estate to do "homework", but in reality to make out in private—where it slips out. "I love you," he whispers into his boyfriend’s hair as Sherlock comes apart underneath him, shaking through his orgasm.

Sherlock slumps, too dizzy to freeze and overreact. Instead, he leans down and mouths at John's cock. He's seen it, but never out in the open. Never fully knotted outside of his pants. Sherlock fishes him out, staring at the head, purple with blood and lust. "It's hideous." John laughs, because he's John, and Sherlock takes the head into his mouth.

It's John's turn to come to pieces. He writhes at first, having never had the warmth of a mouth on his prick, and then stills and puts his hands hesitantly on Sherlock's head. He doesn't pull or push, and for once Sherlock is glad. He licks his cock and squeezes the firm place where the knot would be at the bottom until John is shaking, coming into his mouth.

Sherlock spits, gagging, and threatens John's manhood if he ever does that again without telling him. Then, miraculously, Sherlock cuddles him. He thrusts his nose against John’s neck, sniffing him, tongue occasionally pressing against his skin, for over an hour. John scents him back just as fiercely. Sherlock thinks maybe this is love.

 


End file.
